


for you I'll go, and for you I'll stay

by itsmylifekay



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:22:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He supposed suicide is a lot like cutting in line at a roller coaster. There are some people who'll be mad that you got to go first, some who could really care less since everyone'll get there eventually, and then there'll be those who are secretly relieved because they might not have to go until the next time around.  <br/>And of course, there will always be those who insist cutting is wrong. No matter how far removed from the situation they are. </p>
<p>Or where Liam is depressed and suicidal and the other boys are just trying to do what they can to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for you I'll go, and for you I'll stay

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this is a depressing fic, with mentions of self harm and suicide so please DO NOT READ if this bothers you. but other than that, read on, and have a spectacular day

He supposed suicide is a lot like cutting in line at a roller coaster. There are some people who'll be mad that you got to go first, some who could really care less since everyone'll get there eventually, and then there'll be those who are secretly relieved because they might not have to go until the next time around.  

And of course, there will always be those who insist cutting is _wrong._ No matter how far removed from the situation they are.

/////

Louis was probably the first one to figure it out. That something was wrong. Liam had stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel slung low over his hips to the sight of Louis sprawled out across the rumpled covers of his bed. He shuffled to his bag to pull on a pair of sweats and almost missed the rustle of paper as Louis swung his legs off the side of the mattress, elbows resting on his knees and eyes staring piercingly at Liam as soon as he turned around. 

"Li..." He started. "What is this?"

Rubbing the towel over his hair, Liam moved to look at the packet of papers Louis was holding in his direction, not quite sure what it could be but figuring it was some gossip article that’d rubbed him the wrong way. His body froze for just a moment when he saw what it actually was but he quickly covered it with a flick of the towel across his shoulder, a smile shaped from his lips. 

"C'mon Lou, you know what it is. Says it right there on top, even. This is the will and testament of Liam J-"

"I can read just fine." Louis snapped. "What I want to know is why you have this thing in the first place!"

Liam stared at him blankly. "Are you serious?"

"Liam."

Yup, that was definitely his serious voice. 

Liam sighed. "Louis, I don't get why this is a big deal. We're popstars. We have a lot of money. It's important we have documents about what we want done with it if something happens."

"But nothing's going to happen." Louis urged, pulling the papers out of reach when Liam held out a hand for them. "We're barely in our twenties, and we have security. And we always make sure to pull Harry away from the pyrotechnics display." His mouth pulled up into a thin smile at his joke but it didn't quite reach his eyes, those same eyes that continued to stare at Liam with a kind of haunted expression. 

"Yeah, but freak things happen. One of our planes could go down, or a part of the stage could fall on us," he paced away to throw the towel back into the bathroom. "A transit van could crash, some nutter with a gun could come after one of us. Lighting strike, falling meteor..." He trailed off and looked over at Louis, mildly surprised that there was still quite a bit of tension in the set of his shoulders. His fingers were still trembling lightly from where they gripped the papers Liam had been so carefully hiding beneath a stack of magazines in his bag. 

"Liam, c'mon, that stuff is-it's one in a million. Haven't we had enough of that already?"

"An international popstar _and_ hit by a bus. Definitely against the odds." Liam agreed. 

Louis scowled. "I'm being serious, Liam."

"So am I." Liam shrugged. "Still don't see what the problem is." He turned away again and wandered over to the window that overlooked the city lights, staring out at the skyline while Louis stood up behind him. 

"Liam..." Louis' voice was soft now and Liam slowly turned, meeting Louis' eyes. "Just- you know you can talk to me about anything, yeah? All of us, we're all here for you, you know that right?"

Liam nodded. "Course, Lou. You're my best mates."

Louis continued to just stare at him for a moment before he finally heaved a sigh, turning his heavy eyes to the floor before backing towards the door. "Alright, Liam. Alright. Just promise me you'll tell me if something's wrong? Promise me."

"Sure, I promise." Liam said, trying to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 

He couldn't be discovered, after all. Not yet. 

///

The next to catch on would’ve been Harry, probably. Partly because Louis had a big mouth, and partly because Harry was one of the most caring, earnest people Liam had ever met. So when Liam was having another bad day and had opted to spend the evening on the bus rather than go out with the other lads, he wasn't too surprised when Harry said he' stay back as well. Liam had felt a surge of affection and then the swoop of exhaustion set in, making his chest heavy with the pressure of keeping up appearances and staying awake instead of just crawling into his bunk like he had planned. 

But Harry had apparently understood, ushering the other boys out the door before grabbing Liam’s hand and tugging him down onto the couch, arranging them in a mess of limbs and scrunched fabric that left Liam cut off from the rest of the world, barricaded in by cushions and a broad chest. Harry’s nose snuffled against his neck, curls tickling at his cheeks, and he let out a sigh as Harry’s voice rumbled across his skin. "You looked like you needed a bit of a lie in, and those are always best with company."

“Harry…” He had mumbled, still unsure, hands hovering just above the planes of Harry’s back.

“It’s what we’re here for, right?” Harry murmured, like a secret shared into the dip of Liam’s collarbones. “We’ll hold you, Liam. You just have to let us.”

He had chosen not to fight it. He decided, just that once, he could afford to be a bit greedy. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to be taking from them much longer.

///

Niall noticed when Liam got sick. Well, when he missed a concert because he said he was sick. After all, everyone had to get used to doing these things without him. 

Honestly, it had been much harder than he’d expected, pulling the whole thing off. He’d had to resort back to childhood days of hot water bottles pressed to his forehead and hanging his head off the side of the bed as he called into management, told them he felt like complete shit. He got the lecture about disappointed fans and how he had to take better care of himself but he just tuned it out.

It wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t there.

The other boys could handle it, and he doubt he’d really be missed. Maybe there’d be some curiosity, but no one would actually be disappointed he wasn’t there. How could they be? Not with the other four lads lighting up the stage.

They were talented and funny and fit and _smart._

And they’d also been the hardest to fool. He’d shut himself up in the bathroom, convinced them he was sick enough to stay but not sick enough to go to hospital as he spoke through the door, not filtering out any of the crushing weight he felt as a constant pressure on his chest. And when he looked in the mirror, at his hollow eyes and gradually paling face, he could almost believe the lie. Or at least that part of it.

The revelation had drained him, left him empty and cold as he stared at his reflection for hours, mind racing. He had to move quicker, he was lingering too long. The tile was cold beneath his trembling fingers but his heart didn’t shake in its resolve. Next time they were back in London, where they wouldn’t have to worry about transporting his body too far. He would do it then.

He had planned for the end of tour at the start of all of this, but it had become painfully obvious that he could no longer wait that long.

London it was, then.

An eerie kind of peace descended over him, the quiet of a battlefield where all other life has fled, the stillness of death looming in wait.

How long he sat there, quiet and unseeing, _unfeeling_ , before a knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts, he didn’t know. A glance at his phone told him it was late, the concert over, but not quite late enough to warrant one of the boys being back. They should be out now, partying or meeting fans.

“Liam, open the door.”

Niall’s voice was soft but still demanding, coaxing Liam forward, bringing his body to life. The lock clicked beneath his fingers and suddenly a shock of blonde hair was pushed up beneath his chin, fingers scrunching the fabric of his shirt above his shoulder blades. He wrapped his arms cautiously around Niall in return, leaning back so they were both propped against the wall, Niall all but in his lap.

“Niall?” He questioned, hoping the scratch and tremor in his voice could pass as a consequence of being sick.

“Missed you, mate.” Niall whispered, nudging his nose into the soft skin beneath Liam’s jaw. “Wasn’t the same without you.”

Liam managed a weak laugh, but it sounded fake even to his ears. “I’m sure you managed.”

“Yeah, but who cares if we _managed?”_ Niall pressed, sitting up with a ferocity in his eyes that took Liam by surprise. “It wasn’t the same and we _missed you,_ Liam.”

But Liam knew that wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true. And, even if it were, it would pass. They’d adjust. The same way they’d adjusted from being one to being five, they would adjust to being four.

///

Zayn was the last to know. At least, that’s what Liam assumed.

After all, it would’ve been hard for anyone to miss the writing on the wall.

Stories of pain and suffering and silent torment marked like hieroglyphics across tile, downward swirling patterns culminating in a giant black hole. Liam’s entire life laid out in red within the shower walls. A tomb fit for a king, a Pharaoh, who had battled life until the very end. Until he had finally been overcome by the flood.

He considered writing a letter, but even that seemed pointless. He didn’t want to leave a single piece of himself behind. Not words, not paper, not anything. Blood could be bleached and washed away, bodies could be burned. But words lived forever.

No. Liam decided his departure would be a silent one.

Which is also why he chose the knife.

There would be no bang from a gun, no retching from pills. Just Liam and his thoughts and his pain, finally fading away into the nothingness that had been trying to consume him for so long. That blackness that had lingered at his consciousness for as long as he could remember.

His boys had been his light, but it didn’t take long for Liam to realize what he was doing to them in return. He was taking, stealing. All of that warmth and he was hoarding it for himself, pulling it into his broken body to fill a void that could never be sated. He was selfish.

Horrible.

He had never been brave enough to end it all for himself. But for his boys, for his boys he found the strength.

///

Zayn was the first to know.

He’d wondered from the first time he saw Liam crumple in on himself, duck his head and withdraw from the world before putting on a brave face, eyes unsettlingly dead as he took on the mantle of guarding over four boys he would come to call his brothers.

He’d had his suspicions the moment Liam had seen a sign telling him to quit the band, that they’d be better off without him, and all he’d done is stare, nodding imperceptibly until Louis noticed the poster himself and then Liam had forced a weak smile and a laugh. As if Louis’ defense was the unbelievable factor in the scenario, as if he truly believed he wasn’t needed.

He’d known from the day he looked into Liam’s eyes and saw nothing but darkness staring back at him.

Zayn knew to run for Liam.

At first, he hadn’t realized. He had seen the lack of tension in Liam’s shoulders, had a glimmer of hope that maybe his Liam was coming back, the one that laughed and smiled and read comics with him beneath a blanket in the dead of night while the bus rumbled beneath them. But the eyes…the eyes were the same.

Touching down in London, Zayn had been worried, not wanting to send Liam off on his own. But it was inevitable; he couldn’t force himself into Liam’s apartment. He’d tried spending at least the first evening with him, making an excuse about not wanting to be on his own just yet, making it about himself because that way he knew Liam wouldn’t refuse. And he hadn’t. But he hadn’t offered for Zayn to stay either.

Usually dinner didn’t mean just dinner. It meant horrible telly and even worse take away. It meant tangling together beneath a worn blanket on the couch until their eyelids were drooping and their laughs were coming out as whispers against each other’s necks.

But Liam had ordered take away with a closed expression, they had eaten sitting up on opposite ends of the couch, and when they had both set down their dishes Liam had stood up and (politely, always so politely) shown Zayn the door.

After texting Liam the next morning and receiving a stunted response, he had been relieved.

After texting Liam later that evening and receiving no response, he had all but ran to Liam’s apartment, not bothering with a car this time of evening when the traffic was so ridiculous, damning paparazzi and press to hell as he pushed his way through crowds, thankful that the warm hat and chunky glasses he usually wore around the house were helping obscure his face so he could move unimpeded.

The key to Liam’s flat had been unusually cold in his hand as he’d pushed it into the lock and given it a turn. The silence that met him had been even colder.

///

There had been blood on Zayn’s hands when Niall finally skidded into the hospital waiting room, blood on his shirt and his pants and smeared across his face, under his eyes from where he’d been futilely wiping at tears.

The room was eerily silent, only the two of them in it while they waited for Harry and Louis and anyone from management to arrive. The tile was too white and everything too real and as soon as the first doctor walked out and said Liam was in surgery, they weren’t sure he was going to make it, Niall realized this wasn’t Liam pretending.

This was real.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Niall hissed, pressing his palms into his eyes as he paced across the floor. “You complete, daft, idiot. Don’t you _dare._ ”

Zayn had looked up at him with sad eyes and someone in a suit and stony expression strode in from management.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” Niall begged, praying somehow Liam could hear him. “We need you, Liam. You can’t go. You _can’t_.”

///

By the time Harry and Louis stumbled in, bleary eyed and frantic from having to wait for a car, wait through traffic, wait through phone calls as Zayn and Niall took turns trying to explain what was happening. They would’ve run, too, but there was already too much of a stir, too much attention being drawn to them when one member was seen running through the streets, ambulances at another’s flat, and a third sprinting towards the hospital. It was a thin veil, but management insisted Louis and Harry needed to at least pretend to remain calm.

All of that faded as soon as they stepped through the waiting room door.

“Liam,” Harry pleaded. “Where is he?”

When no one said a word he made a small choking noise and wrapped his arms around himself, fingers going white at the knuckles. “Is he…?”

“No,” Zayn interrupted. Not willing to hear the word aloud. “No, he’s…he’s…”

“In surgery.” Niall finished. “Still in surgery, just like we said on the phone.”

“Oh,” Harry visibly deflated. “Oh, well that’s, that’s good, right?”

He looked around the room for any confirmation and found none. So he took a step back, falling into a chair beside Louis and burying his head in his hands.

He didn’t move until a doctor emerged again, clipboard in hand and expression solemn. He’d felt his stomach drop even before the man had opened his mouth.

“Mr. Payne had lost a lot of blood, he was already in shock and there were several incisions at his wrists and thighs that had to be mended, some reconstruction…”

“Yes, yes, but is he okay?”

Everyone looked over to Louis in shock but the other boy just shrugged and turned back to the doctor with a challenging expression. After all, he’d said the words they were all dying to ask.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Mr. Payne is currently recovering, yes. However it would probably be best to keep him here for a few days for observation and possible counseling.”

It looked like he might’ve gone on more but Louis cut him off again. “But when can we see him?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I would guess tomorrow morning.”

And the next morning, they were there waiting.

They decided Harry should be the first to go in, since he was the calmest at the time, or at least the one not ready to scream and pull their hair out and ask Liam _why in the world would you do such a thing?_ Harry tended to keep thoughts like that to himself.

Liam was barely awake when Harry slowly crept up to his side, pulling over a chair and settling down before gently taking Liam’s hand. He lowered his head down to the bed so his curls fell across Liam’s fingers and the crisp white bandages wrapped around his wrist and took a deep breath, just listening to the heart monitor and the rise and fall of Liam’s chest.

“You should have told us,” Harry finally murmured after a few minutes of silence. He felt Liam’s fingers tense slightly and nuzzled at his forearm until they relaxed again, going pliant in Harry’s loose grip. “We would’ve held you, Liam. We still will. We’ll never let you go.”

Liam made a pained noise and Harry sat up enough to look into his eyes, tracing a gentle finger down the bridge of his nose before smoothing his thumb over one thick eyebrow. “We _want_ to help you, Li. So you should never feel bad. Because it’s not taking if it’s something we want to give.”

///

Louis had been the next to go in. But only because he was anxious and impatient and refused to wait any longer. He’d pushed through the door with eyes like fire and seeing Liam propped up and pale and looking unnaturally small hadn’t managed to take out much of the heat.

"You promised me, Liam.” He whispered, voice tight as he approached the bed, so close to snapping but trying to hold it in so he wouldn’t get kicked out, or startle Liam. He wanted answers, yes, but he didn’t want Liam to retreat into himself again. That was the last thing any of them wanted. “You promised you'd tell me if something was wrong."

Liam let out a dry cough and shut his eyes, leaning back against the bed as he forced dry, papery words from between his lips. "But nothing was wrong… Everything was finally going to be alright."

"You don't honestly believe that." Louis hissed, taking a step back as if Liam had physically threatened him. “You can’t. Liam, do you have any idea how much we need you?”

Liam’s eyes opened slowly, tracing over Louis with a deliberate pace, reading the desperation and hurt there, before closing again, this time with Liam grimacing in pain, cracked lips curving into a frown. After all, this hadn’t been what he wanted, not for them. He couldn't hurt them this way.

“Liam-” Louis started, hands fretting against the covers, worried something had gone wrong again, so afraid, so afraid…

 But Liam huffed and caught one of Louis’ hands, eyes reopening with an emotion Louis couldn’t pinpoint trapped in their depths. “Louis,” he whispered, voice wavering and so, so breakable. “Louis, I think something may be wrong.”

///

He supposed recovery is a lot like learning how to walk. There are those who will laugh at the stumbles and scoff because they’d rather have the attention for themselves. There are those who will turn a blind eye and pretend not to see, maybe those who don’t even care, because it’s not _their_ problem. But then there are those who will encourage and cheer, who will wait with open arms as the first steps are taken, will hold and shelter without ever being asked.

And of course, there will always be those who insist recovery is _easy._ No matter how far removed from the situation they are.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
